Recovery Begins
by Quixotic04
Summary: Jasmine examined the scars littering her bronze arms. Some imperfect, uneven, others precise and accurate. They each had a story, and she hated them. They were reminders of who and what she had lost, and why. But maybe, just maybe, someday, someone would come along, and help remove some of those scars from her heart. And maybe, that person is Tim Drake.


"Yes, Daddy..." Jasmine said as she exited the shabby, smoke filled living room. She closed the door to her room and sank behind it, taking a deep breath of less smoky air. Slowly, she pulled the knife from under her shirt, and held it close to her chest. She took another deep breath and set it on the floor, carefully rolling up the sleeves to her long sleeve shirt she wore under everything- even in the middle of summer-and examined the scars littering her bronze arms. Some imperfect, and uneven, others precise and accurate; They each had a story- Every one. Some were in groups, depending on the situation, but others were lone, jagged, and horrible. She hated them. They were reminders of who and what she had lost, and why.

She ran her thumb over the first one, closest to her elbow- an accident; she had acquired it in her first encounter with the infamous Joker. That hadn't mattered; it was a small scratch, when she was lucky to get out alive. The scars only got more frequent as her arm thinned to her wrist. She rubbed a thumb over a patch of smooth, straight cuts right above her wrist on the top side of her arm. Last week. When her father had 'introduced' her to Susan. Susan. The bitch. Her supposed new mother. Or, now that she was older, and understood, her father's new slut. She was pretty, or rather; she probably used to be before all that obvious surgery. But... apparently Daddy liked her enough to keep her around. She picked the knife up again, running her thumb over it, a small slice and a drop of blood rolling down her hand. It was sharp. Good. She found an empty patch on her right arm, right above her wrist, next to the scars from when she had lost Bess and Lydia. She raked her eyes over them, and held back a sob.

Bess... she was her best friend. The scars had greatly decreased when she walked into Jasmine's life. And Lydia, her beautiful baby girl. Jasmine had hid them in her room for a year, keeping the tiny baby fed and quiet, away from her father. Then she got sick; sick from the smoke was the girls' guess. They managed to get her downstairs and into the car;, being older, knew how to drive, at least enough to get to the doctors down the street. But this was Gotham. As soon as they pulled out of the drive; someone rammed them from the front, instantly killing Bess. And Lydia... the poor child took glass to the stomach and face. She was alive and screaming, and with the little strength Jasmine still possessed, ankle twisted, arm broken, she fought her and the baby's way out of the car. She caught a glimpse of the person in the other car as he climbed out. He shot a glance her way, and then dashed down the alley, apparently mostly unharmed. She had seen enough to hate him. Old and ripped domino mask, charcoal long sleeved muscle shirt, and khaki cargo pants, black mussed hair with an odd white streak in the bangs. She quickly pushed him from her mind, and dragged herself and the baby girl to the doctors, collapsing once she reached the desk, setting the baby on the counter, and managing a small whimper for help before passing out. She woke up a few hours later, and sat up, aching all over, arm in a cast, and ankle in a splint.

_"L-Lydia..." she breathed panicked to a nurse who walked in to help. "Lydia?" the nurse asked kindly. "T-The baby... the baby..." she managed. A sad look floated over the woman's face. "I'm sorry, dolly... she never made it to the room..." she said quietly. Jas looked at her in disbelief. "N-no... No..."_

Jasmine never recovered from that. Never forgave the man with the white hair. She raised the knife, positioning it over her arm, and making a thin cut close to her wrist. Pain raced up her arm, and she bit her lip, taking a deep breath. She moved a centimeter, and pushed the knife harder into her arm, deeper, blood from the first wound pouring off of her arm. A small part of her in the back of her mind noted that she should probably stop; she had just hit that vein in her wrist. All of a sudden, there was a gunshot from the other room. She jerked up; knife clenched in hand, and arm pouring blood. "Daddy...?" she called, running to the room, woozy by now from blood loss. She looked up, and found Susan, gun in hand, still pointed at her now dead father on the ground. "No..." she breathed. "NO!" she screamed running to her father as he fell to the floor. When the dark haired girl looked up again,it was just in time to see Susan escape. She sobbed into the bloody body of her father, torn that she had lost the one thing, the one thing keeping her alive. Jasmine let out a scream of agony, as she drove another slice into her arm, definitely cutting the vein this time. Blood poured from her arm, and she sobbed, both from the pain in her heart, and the pain burning up her arm. The broken girl lay on top of her father, ear pressed to his chest, desperate for any hope he would live... but to no avail. Just as her vision faded to black, she heard a male voice calling her name, and passed out, seeing the form of a young man with long dark locks, and pretty blue eyes.

Tim Drake woke up to his phone ringing. He sighed and rolled over, looking at the caller ID. Natalie. Nope. He rolled over, trying to ignore it, putting a pillow over his head. It rang almost constantly for the next ten minutes before silence pervaded the room. Tim smiled lightly into his pillow, and was almost back asleep until his com buzzed. "Damn it" he hissed quietly into his pillow, and rolled out of bed, dragging himself to the dresser where the comm-link sat. He placed it in his ear, and slumped to the kitchen, sitting at the table, and sighed. "Red Robin" he checked in. "Uncle Tim!" a bubbly and way too happy voice answered him. He winced. "What do you want**,**Impulse?" he asked with a small groan. He was tired. He had gotten in only four hours ago. The woman on the other end of the line huffed, indignant at the name. "Natalie. Now Timmy-"

"Impulse* this line is for hero business and emergencies only. If there is none of the before stated, why are you on this line?" Tim explained tersely.

"You didn't answer your phone" was the simple excuse, and the former Robin wanted to strangle her. Before he had a chance to interject, she rambled on.

"Well, I need you to go check on my friend Jasmine. You remember her from your visit right?" Jasmine. The name sounded familiar…oh wait... "... That Hispanic girl you pointed out to me when were at dinner?" There was a sound of approval from the speedster.

"Yupp, that's her. No one's seen or heard from her in almost a week, and she's not one to just disappear."

Tim sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You're sure she's just not, say, sick?"

"Positive" was the reply. "I have to go meet mom and dad, and then work later, so can you please check up on her for me?"

Tim grumbled out approval, and with the excited voice that was Natalie, she gave him the address, and cut off the connection.

Around seven, Tim found himself standing in front of a shabby apartment building. He frowned, his training kicking in. Apparently, a health inspector hadn't been here in ages. But this was Gotham...He sighed, checked the apartment number, and slowly began to climb the stairs. When he was about halfway up he thought he heard a gunshot, and froze, tensed and ready to defend himself. When he didn't hear any more, he hesitantly continued climbing. A few minutes and an awkward run**(-)**in with a hooker later, he reached the door. He knocked quietly, and with no response, called out. "...Jasmine..? Jasmine Malowe?" There was a muffled scream, and he opened the door, lock having been broken by the force of him just turning the knob. Hearing greatly improved, he jogged towards the sounds of sobbing. He entered what seemed to be the living room, "JASMINE!" he yelled, rushing to the girl's side, just as she passed out. She was lying in a pool of what seemed to be her and her father's blood, the older man shot in the head. Her arm was dripping, and a sharp steak knife was lodged in the once**-**clean flesh. Her face and hair were coated in the substance, and since there was no use in trying to save the man, Tim scooped the almost anorexic girl into his arms and moved quickly to get her to the nearest hospital.

**A/N: Sooooo…. Did you like it? Leave a review with your reaction/comments/criticism/suggestions? Thanks for the read~! **

**Disclaimer: I own nothing except for Jasmine and her father, Susan and Natalie, the rest is owned by DC Comics. **

*****Impulse for this story is my OC Natalie Grayson, not Bart Allen. **


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